The Serpent in White
by Prtyjedi
Summary: Sequel to the Man in White: a young woman, now an orphan, plots revenge against Altair. Completed.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or any related trademarks.

Serpent in White

Chapter I

_A flash of grey, a pool of red, a streak of white._

I woke up with a start, covered in sweat. My hand immediately reached for the dagger on my nightstand. I knew there was no one else in the room, but gripping the weapon gave me a degree of comfort and personal safety. A very small degree. After a while I realized that I'd been holding my breath. I let it out, something between a whimper and a scream. I began crying in hard, wracking sobs. I pushed my face in my pillow so nobody would hear me.

It hadn't been as much a nightmare or a dream as it had been a memory: the memory of my father's death. One day I had seen a man in dressed white robes on the street. There was something about him that caught my eye: perhaps his posture, perhaps his 'd run among the rooftops and I would follow him.I chased him across rooftops, not really knowing why. I could barely keep up, but I persevered. After the chase that turned out to be the last I had returned home to find my father dying in his hands. That day I swore to kill the man in white. That was two years ago.

I woke up again some hours later. For some people the hour was still early, but for a long time I'd been sleeping the bare minimum to keep functioning properly. For me, sleep was rarely a welcome release. I glanced out of the window at the nearly-risen sun. I was supposed to be at a tavern at midday for a meeting. I considered several things I could do to pass the time. In the end I chose to do none of them and instead remained in my room.

I left the inn where I was staying some time before the meeting. It was the year of our Lord 1183 A.D. and I was dressed in a rough leather tunic. While my family was originally from England my father had adapted to Islamic practices soon after arriving in the Holy had done this more out of sociopolitical necessity than anything else. Father had been a practical man. He rarely spoke of any faith in the Christian God and followed all the habits the Muslims did, excluding things like praying to Allah, which wasn't allowed for infidels. My beliefs were practiced in an equally utilitarian manner, visible most in my not adhering to the Islamic women's dress nowadays even in Damascus a western woman walking alone wasn't unduly frowned upon.

I arrived at my destination long before my contact. I suspected he was late on purpose. I spent the extra time planning. That's the kind of person I am. I plan; constantly and for every situation. It's part paranoia, part fear and part careful nature. Maybe all three stem from the same source. I don't know. I watched the people filing in and out of the tavern. It wasn't lavishly decorated. A few carpets and cloths here and there to cover the rough clay walls. There was a higher floor where I assumed the management lived. The ground floor was larger and had several small tables. It wasn't a large tavern, but I liked it. It wasn't seedy enough to attract unwelcome visitors but wasn't large or rich enough to attract more posh clientèle. Time passed, and eventually my contact arrived. Our eyes met and I waved him over. He sat down hurriedly and we shook hands.

"_As-Salāmu `Alayki_," he greeted.

"_Wa `Aleyka As-Salaam_," I greeted back. "I am your contact. Would you like something to drink?" He glanced furtively at the empty tankard in front of me and then nodded. I smiled inwardly as I fetched a tankard for him. My tankard had never been anything but dry and was at my table only to make him feel at ease. When I returned to the table he downed his drink quickly.

"So what can I do for a pretty girl like you?" he asked somewhat snidely. I ignored the remark. He was trying to establish a position of power. I simply smiled, knowing it infuriated him.

"I'm told you know something about the, um..." I trailed off and signaled the barkeep for another drink. "The assassins." The fact of the matter was that I _knew _that he _knew_. Moreover, he was one of them. Not a high-ranking assassin, if they had any hierarchy at all, like the one who killed my father, but an assassin nonetheless. I also knew that he drank eagerly, often a little too much and that his tongue loosened up quite a bit when he did.

"Truly, I might. But what is that to you?" The second tankard arrived. This one wasn't gone as quickly. I whispered to the barkeep to keep them coming for two drinks more.

"My business is my own."

"Of course it is, but I would feel much more at ease in a company with mutual trust." We smiled venomously at each other. I'd anticipated this.

"Of course. I am employed by someone who wants information the assassins with a minimum of personal risk and involvement."

"I see. Now what motivation is there for me to divulge my secrets?" he asked, leaning back and crossing his hands behind his head. _Because if you don't I'll cut off your balls and throw them in the river_, I thought behind my smile, but I held my tongue and set a leather pouch on the table. He eyed it speculatively for a moment before nodding. Then he told me of the assassins.

"We are followers of the _Nizari tariqath_, a pathof the Ismaili branch of Islam, though in recent years our focus on religion and spirituality has lessened. We began when Hassan-i Sabbah and his followers found themselves without alliesin enemy territory, so to speak. He led our people to the fortress of Alamut. From there they consolidated their position by eliminating the most dangerous political enemies. Since we had little by way of military might we trained our warriors to eliminate our enemies unseen. This way we conserved our numbers and our enemies fell. Slowly our position was secure once more. This was almost a century ago.

"Since then we claimed more fortresses to use and went through a short succession of leaders. We killed Muslims and Christians alike; our only goal was survival, maintaining a balance of enemies. We truly entered a **'**golden age**'** when our latest leader,known only as Al Mualim like all our leaders, save for Hassan-i Sabbah, came to power. He perfected the training regimen and methods of our assassins and has since led us with unequaled vision and purpose."

"This Al Mualim, does he ever leave the safety of Masyaf?" I asked. For the tiniest moment there was a flash of intelligence and unbridled joy in his eyes.

"Rarely... But by chance such a time is now upon us." His speech was slurring slightly. "In a week or so he is traveling here, to Damascus, to meet with the local bureau leader." I cocked an eyebrow. "A bureau leader manages to brotherhood's business within a city."

"Why the meeting?"

"I cannot know for certain," he said irritably, waving his hand as if to dismiss a source of annoyance. "But my guess is to discuss the matter of a replacement. The current bureau leader is old and weary of his post." He began mulling over his fourth tankard of the meeting. I propped my elbows on my hands and smiled as sweetly and sincerely as I could.

"Please, tell me more."

***

From there on out things went bad. When he finished telling me all about Al Mualim's visit he leaned back and closed his eyes. After he'd been completely still for some time I decided to take my gold back and quietly make my exit. While I could've lost the gold without much trouble, if the opportunity arose I was more than eager to take it back. As an assassin he wouldn't risk an incident with the authorities. However, just as my hand closed around the leather pouch his eyes snapped open and he gave an angry yell. Without really thinking I jumped on the table, kicked his teeth in and jumped for the stairs. At the top I saw a corridor with three rooms along it. The first one had an open window. There were angry yells sounds of struggling coming from behind me so I ran to the window and jumped out. It wasn't far above street level and I managed to soften my landing with an awkward roll. Immediately I got up and ran. A few turns later I ducked behind a low wall and caught my breath. Carefully I peeked above the wall and saw no one. I crouched and observed the street. A short way ahead of me was a ladder. I ran for it just to be safe.

On the rooftop I checked my surroundings again and found that I still wasn't being followed. Even if my lovely contact had managed to keep his wits about him after four pints,which I found somewhat impressive in itself, he'd have to have lost some or most of his motor skills. I doubted he was up for a real exhausted, I collapsed against a stack of crates. For a while I only breathed in lungfuls of air. After my breathing had returned to normal I stared at the sky for a moment before beginning laughing uncontrollably. I wasn't amused by anything; I was just feeling the joy of success. I kept laughing until I was once again breathless. I had to once again regain my breath, but soon I was headed back to my inn.

I woke up before the sun was up. Having gone to sleep early on I was feeling energetic and reluctant to go back to sleep. It was time to gather my thoughts and plan for the future. Al Mualim of the Assassins was coming to Damascus in nine days and he would meet the local bureau leader in a teahouse in the Rich District. I had never been to the place myself; I avoided the Rich District like the plague, there were too many chances of being recognizedI would have to check out the place beforehand. I had a burkha that would sufficiently conceal my features.

Al Mualim would have an entourage, four assassins skilled with the blade, which was a double-edged sword. On one hand it would be much easier to spot an old man escorted by four strong men than it would be to spot just an old man. On the other hand I would probably have to contend with his escorts in some way to get to him. However, once I did get to him I was probably safe. He was an old man and according to my contact he wouldn't even leave his fortress without strong reason.

I addressed both concerns over the next days. For the escorts I could do little, so I settled on buying a new short sword, since I had no shortage of money. I visited the was crowded and there was little room to move about. However, the rafters of the teahouse large and would allow me to observe the meeting unmolested and jump in at the opportune moment. The rest of the week I spent gathering my strength and resting. The night before the meeting an overpowering feeling of exhaustion washed over me. _How did it come to this?_, I asked myself. Two years ago I had been a more or less normal young noblewoman. Very well, maybe not _that _normal, but certainly far removed from the bitter and vengeful creature I was now.

I don't remember how long it was until a servant discovered the bloody scene where I still sat. He of course alerted the city guards. They assured me that the killer would be caught and this injustice righted. Some of them even made a few passes at me. I'm sure you're feeling very lonely, they said. I ignored them. It was some time in the night that I truly realized the situation. I was doomed if I did nothing. When all was said and done my father was an outlander with no male heirs. What remained of his trade empire would be divvied up between corrupt officials and money-hungry, distant blood relations. I would be left barely anything.

Perhaps with effort I could take control of my father's assets, but what could I do with them? I had no mind for economics, much less for political and social intrigue. When I was sure everyone else was asleep I gathered the largest sacks I could find in the house and went to my father's treasury. I left the house carrying as much wealth as I could. Over the next few weeks I hid them in separate locations in Jerusalem and Damascus. One stash I located in Acre. There were at least some people I could trust.

On one of these trips, in Jerusalem, I once again saw the man in white. He was sitting on a bench and all his attention was directed at something I couldn't perceive. I slowed my steps and my hand subtly retrieved the dagger hidden in my boot. I concealed the blade within my sleeve and approached him. A few steps away I froze. I suddenly realized that I was completely outmatched. He hadn't noticed me, this I was sure of, but even with his attention diverted he could handle any attack I could muster, element of surprise or not. The dagger fell from my hand and clattered on the ground, the sound of it like the tolling of iron bells in my ears. I whipped around and ran. I ran and ran and ran until I could run no more. At the first alcove I collapsed onto the ground and cried at my powerlessness. I stayed there until nightfall.

Amidst my reminiscence I slowly drifted to an uninterrupted sleep. I woke up early as always. As I got up the sun was rising and watched it by the window. As I did I felt the backs of my hands tingling. A wry smile danced on my lips. A big day was ahead of me.

***

A/N: Hiya, kids, and welcome to the sequel to a Man in White! Yes, I know I said that I wouldn't return to the story, but in the end our intrepid heroine is too good not to write about. So stay tuned.

A few note about the stuff so far. First off, some of you may raise eyebrows at the blatant disregard for the Islamic requirement for the women to cover pretty much every inch of their skin. As I said, this is a _liberty _I'm taking as the author. I don't have patience for crap about her being disguised as a man, and, let's face it, a full-body robe (whatever the name was) is not the most acrobatically fit item of clothing. A second note is about the history of the Assassins. Part of if (more or less the first paragraph of the assassin's speech) is more or less historically accurate, from what I can tell. At the second paragraph things turn to the AC version of history, which I came up with myself.

That was that. Stay tuned and please review. Constructive criticism particularly welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

The Serpent in White

Chapter II

As soon as it was dark enough for me to move among the rooftops mostly undetected I headed for the tavern. I had scouted out the place so I knew there would be an open window. I wasn't spotted on the way to the tavern, but a couple of workers taking a break by the window forced me to wait. When they finally left I peeked inside, determined nobody was watching the window. I crouched low and observed the surroundings. I climbed softly up to the rafters. A few extra planks formed a sort of alcove where I could lie in wait without too much exertion. My clothes were dark enough not be seen and some soot from a chimney on the way did a good job of concealing exposed skin. I tried to find a comfortable position. It would probably be some time before the Assassins arrived.

I spent the time going over my plan time and time again and guessing which of the customers was the bureau leader. Time passed at a snail's pace. I slowly began considering that my contact had lied to me. I began making up violent plans to get back at the man if this was the case. One particularly shocking plan involving snakes and hot iron disturbed me slightly so I went back to rehearsing the plan in my head. The old man was the key. If I got him things should fall into place. The escort of four assassins meant he was relatively defenseless himself. As I obsessively reviewed my plan doubts began to creep in my mind. I really hadn't thought it out that far, had I? How would I contend with four highly-trained swordsmen? Would I fall asleep before anyone ever showed up here? I shook my head and tried to focus.

Eventually a party of five men entered the tavern. One of them was old, but the four others were visibly younger and they surrounded the old man. The five proceeded to a table occupied by a single man. I was surprised to find that _he_ was the bureau leader. I hadn't even considered him a candidate. Not because he didn't really fit the bill, but because I hadn't even noticed him until now. The four younger men were wearing rather nondescript white tunics. The old man who had arrived, Al Mualim, was wearing a black robe. His very presence was somehow commanding. The bureau leader wore a similar black robe, but he was nowhere near as intimidating as Al Mualim.

The two black-clad men began speaking. I strained to hear the words, but the din of the tavern was too much. Instead I focused on the four other Assassins. At a glance they seemed to be just sitting there. Further inspection revealed that they were intently watching the entrance and the other patrons. I held my breath whenever one of them glanced even slightly upwards. If they saw me none of them made any move to even tell the others.

After what seemed like hours had passed the two old men embraced and the bureau leader left. There was no indication that Al Mualim was about to leave, slowly sipping his drink as he was, so I decided to make my move. As silently as I could I moved from the rafters onto the floor by the window from which I'd entered. I produced a small blade and hid it in my hand, exposing only the slightest length of the blade. I proceeded downstairs as nonchalantly as I could. I felt the eyes of the four assassins on me. I faked tripping and stumbled against Al Mualim's chair. Even as I apologized I placed my blade on the old man's throat.

"Make one sudden move and you'll be bleeding all over the floor," I said quietly. The assassins had probably heard me and that was fine.

"Oh my," Al Mualim said. His voice was suspiciously calm. I felt a point against my abdomen. I quickly glanced down and saw a knife against my stomach. I swore under my breath and rapidly pushed Al Mualim and his chair against the table. I retreated a few steps and laid my hand on the short sword by my side. Al Mualim rose slowly and turned to me. The four assassins got up as well. All eyes in the tavern were on us. Some people were half-sitting, half-standing, probably considering running out and calling the guards.

"Malik," Al Mualim said, and one of the assassins stepped forward. "Deal with her." The man, Malik, pulled back his hood and drew his sword. With a swallow I drew mine. Sweat was running freely down my forehead, mixing with the soot to create streaks across my face. Malik gave me a mock salute before adopting a medium stance with his dominant side forward. I did my best to recall the military training session I'd spied upon and assumed a stance that was probably riddled with mistakes.

Malik started the dance and stepped forward with a backhand slash, which I managed to block. From there he continued to an overhead chop, which I also blocked. His next attack was simply to kick me in the gut. It caught me completely off-guard and sent me sprawling. He didn't press his advantage, but waited for me to regain my stance. He had an insolent smirk on his face. He took the offensive again, but this time with a series lighter attacks, which I once again blocked easily, and again finishing with a heavier attack, this time a two-handed slash. A quick step back saved me.

This continued for a short while more and I realized he was toying with me. Anger flashed through me, but I tried to remain in control of my faculties. I raised my sword above me in a two-handed grip and faked a stumble forwards as I brought my attack down. Malik sidestepped it easily and laughed as he did at the girl who would be a swordsman. Suddenly I brought my front leg back behind me and cut at his face while I did. He realized my plan a fraction too late. I took a hasty step backwards and was glad to see a crimson cut decorating his cheek. It was a shallow cut, but immensely satisfying.

His smirk became a sneer as he attacked again, this time with heavier, more serious blows. He knocked me off-balance and I fell on my back. He advanced with his sword held high. I was desperate and tried to kick him between his legs. He didn't manage to evade it completely and I hit his right knee. Apparently I also I hit a nerve as his advance faltered, allowing me to get up. With an angry yell Malik started at me, but Al Mualim stopped him and motioned him to retreat. The old man motioned to the other three assassins.

"Get her." It took a moment for me to realize that three professional killers had just been ordered to kill me. Without further thought I threw my sword at them, which had no effect, and bolted up the stairs at the window. I gathered all my strength and jumped through the window. I made it through, but landed unevenly. As I regained my balance I momentarily glanced back to see the four Assassins heading for me. I started running as fast as I could, vaulting over obstacles and making jumps that seemed impossible. I once again turned around to see that my hunters were hot on my heels, so I decided to descend to street level.

There were crowds of people as the Night Prayer had just ended and people flocked from the mosques. I entered the crowd and began weaving through the sea of people, hoping to lose the assassins. I spotted a small alley to the left and ran down it to a ladder. As I climbed up I once again looked back, but saw no more assassins. I quickly got up and got my bearing and began heading in the direction of the inn where I was staying. As I approached the edge of the roof I was on one of the assassins suddenly leaped in from my right. I swore and changed direction. I neared the edge again as I saw another assassin show up on the opposing ledge. I jumped before realizing it, but I managed to grab a wooden pole and change my direction. I lost my grip and fell down to the street. People gasped in shock and jumped back as I landed, quite heavily, on the street. I tried to get up, but my feet wouldn't follow my commands. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the assassins heading slowly down to street level.

One man emerged from the crowd to help me up. I managed to get on my feet and I thanked him. I tried my footing and my legs felt a little better. I turned around and saw the assassin heading for me. Without further concern for my feet I started running again, heading for a hiding place I knew nearby. I ran past four alleys, counting them as I did, and turned on the fifth one. It was a short one and as I emerged I vaulted the low wall immediately to my left and landed in a hay cart. I tried to make sure nothing was showing and took a small knife into my hand. I held it against my chest and tried to be as quiet as possible.

After some time had passed I considered getting out. I had no idea how long it had been, but if I stayed any longer I would go mad. I slowly and as inconspicuously as possible rose from the haystack, praying hard all four assassins weren't waiting for me right next to the cart. To my relief, they weren't. I blended with the crowd and headed for the inn. I saw no assassins during the time. As I walked I became painfully aware of a manner of bruises, sore spots and a general feeling of exhaustion. The fact that I had completely failed in my plan lurked somewhere in my mind, but hadn't really connected with my conscious thoughts yet. I kept circling around to make sure I wasn't being followed.

With relief I entered my room. I pulled off my boots and walked to the window. I leaned on the sill and drank in the sounds and smells of the city. A nagging feeling crept into my mind, but I couldn't understand why. Almost at the very moment I realized I hadn't left the window open when I had left an arm closed itself around my throat. I struggled to breathe and to separate myself from my assailant, but failed. I fell to the floor, and the last thing I remember seeing was the man in white, standing over me.

* * *

For the next few days I was only awake for short and confused periods of time. Every time I fell into sleep my memories returned to haunt me. I relived the years after my father's death. After my re-encounter with the man in white I spent days listlessly wandering around. I don't remember much. I was sleepwalking, having completely lost any direction I'd had. All I had left was my revenge, but how could I kill this white demon? I remember waking from a dreamlike daze my thoughts focused on one insane idea: fight fire with fire. To kill an Assassin become an Assassin.

What followed was a period of internal struggle. The idea of joining that mysterious fraternity of killers seemed at the same time laughable, revolting and frightening. If they knew who I was I would never be accepted. Furthermore, how could I get accepted? I kept going over a thousand and one questions, but the more I thought about it the more it seemed like the only possible course.

With my mind set I began investigating the Assassins. I found a few individuals, but they weren't willing to divulge any information. Thus I focused my search on informants with loose tongues. My plan was to gain some information that I could use the get myself accepted into the ranks of the Assassins. If I was accepted I would have the means and possibly the opportunity to exact my revenge without certain failure.

* * *

I woke up disoriented, sore and blind. I had no idea how long I'd been out of it. It had probably been a while. I was tied up, but what little movement I could muster provoked a very angry response from my joints. I wasn't actually blind, but there was a strip of cloth on my eyes. It chafed my skin, so I assumed it had been there for a while.

After my initial panic subsided I began to gather what information I could of my surroundings. I'd gotten as far as surmising I was on a stone floor when someone walked up and began roughly dragging me behind him. For a moment I tried to struggle, but realized that blindfolded, bound up and completely unaware of my situation it probably wouldn't help that much. I gathered my wits and tried to walk as normally as I could. After a while we stopped. I felt a breeze and the warmth of the sun on my face and assumed we were outside. Without warning the cloth on my eyes was torn away. The brightness of the sun was too much and I fell back with a painful yelp.

Slowly, bit by bit, I opened my eyes as they adjusted to the light. I wasn't outside. The wind and warmth came from a large came through a large window on the wall. I looked around and saw filled bookshelves. I slowly got up and turned around, right to the face of a robed Assassin. I clambered back and almost lost my balance. I steadied myself against a table.

"Ah. I'm so glad you could join us," a voice said from my left. Al Mualim walked into my field of view, followed by two Assassins. I eyed him warily and said nothing. He walked past me to one of the shelves and placed a book there. After a long while he turned back to me.

"I am Al Mualim. Who are you?" he asked. I tried my best to adopt a defiant stare. In the blink of an eye the other Assassin drew a short blade and pressed it against my throat.

"Youwill answer the master's question." I looked back at him levelly. Al Mualim said something in Arabic and the blade left my throat. Al Mualim stepped forward.

"_You_ attacked _us_. We have done little to you. It would be proper to show some courtesy..." His voice was soft. "When we could snuff out your life in an instant!" His voice cracked like a whip. He gazed into my eyes and it took all my willpower not to look away.

"Kaif al-Zarga'," I said weakly. He stepped back and appraised me.

"And how would a Christian woman come by an Arabic name?" He asked. It took me less than a second to remember my cover story.

"I was born into slavery. My master, an Arab, called me that." Al Mualim laughed harshly.

"I can only wonder what you did to earn such a name." His face grew serious. "Why did you attack me at the tavern?" I pushed my hair back.

"I planned to use you first as a hostage to guarantee my safety and then as leverage to meet my goal."

"And that goal would be...?" I swallowed before answering.

"I want to become an assassin." I had no idea what would come next. This was the turning point. A chilling silence permeated the library. I couldn't even hear the wind. I expected that they would laugh before slitting my throat and leaving me to bleed dry. After forever had passed Al Mualim spoke again.

"We were aware of you after you spoke to the fourth operative we had in the cities. We fed you information of the pliable and boozing informant. We ordered him to tell you of my meeting. The fight at the tavern, the ensuing chase and this interrogation... This has all been a test. We wanted to know who we were facing and what you wanted. Now all questions are answered." I suddenly noticed a strange smell in the air and saw the two assassins step back from myself and the old man. With a gleeful look on his face Al Mualim sunk a dagger into my gut.

A day or so later I woke up very much alive. I was back in my cell, but I was no longer bound. An Assassin and an older, frailer man entered. The older man carried a tray and a bundle of clothes. He set them down and left with a bow. I looked defiantly at the Assassin. His face was cool.

"Training begins before sunrise. Be ready."

A/N: OK, Chapter 2 up. Keep those reviews coming, they're appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

The Serpent in White

Chapter III

The patter of rain against the wall woke me up and I turned on my cot to look outside. The sky was gray with storm clouds, nary a break in the horizon. I didn't bother getting up, since for once I'd woken up before the instructors came to rouse everyone. I would enjoy each I moment I could of languidly lying there. It was the tenth month of my training. As usual I had no idea what the instructors had in store for us. A distant door slammed and brought me out of my reverie. With a frustrated sigh I realized I didn't have all that much time after all.

An hour or so later my training cadre, consisting of eighteen trainees, was finishing stretching and conditioning exercises. With their usual haughtiness the instructors, Assassins who were either retired from active duty or weren't on any missions at the time, led us to the Canyon. The Canyon was just that: a canyon, also an obstacle course designed to hone an assassin's various skills, from leaping and balancing to scaling walls via hand holds. I had come to know the sun-bleached fake buildings well.

Essentially the Canyon's course was a series of walls that imitated real buildings, varying in elevation. Each section, located along three parallel courses, tested a specific area of acrobatic expertise. Above us, at the top, another set of instructors would observe and evaluate our performance and dispense either punishment or advice accordingly, though praise was seldom heard. The aim was to be as quick and as safe as possible. The mission had priority, and if you were lying on the ground with your legs broken the mission wouldn't be carried out.

We were split into lines. I was first up for the middle course, which tended to emphasize balance and jumping. I mouthed a silent _thank you_ to no-one in particular: of all the different things the Assassins made us practice I excelled in the Canyon, and in the Canyon I excelled in the middle course. The lead instructor, a sullen man named Bakri with curiously smooth and unworn features, carefully and slowly looked over the three of us who were first in line. Without warning he barked a command and we burst into movement.

The middle course had ostensibly the easiest first obstacle: whereas the right course had a vertical wall and the left one featured a combination of boxes and eaves, the middle course featured a ladder. However, the ladder always had a few steps that were loose and the whole construct tended to be a little rickety, which I'd learned the hard way on my first time. My initial elation at getting the middle course had soon turned into embarrassment as I had fallen back down halfway up the ladder.

The course continued with a series of poles, lone planks and jumps of various height and length, all of which I navigated without much difficulty. The balance sections were easier for me, but some of the longer jumps always were almost always a challenge. Initially I'd been far ahead of the others when it came to the Canyon's challenges, thanks to my activities over the past few years. However, as time passed the others began catching up in skill and, by extension, also in physical distance. A sort of grudging respect mixed with a high level of competitiveness developed between the best of us.

I finished the course at about the same time as the trainee on the left course, an angry young man named Jibran. The right course trainee, whose name escaped me, finished seconds after. The instructors came to give us our feedback. I got the usual 'adequate balance, work on the jumps'-lecture, something I knew at heart. I nodded and thanked the instructor. As soon as he'd left I started stretching out while the other two trainees did conditioning exercises. When the second batch of trainees arrived we were partnered off for unarmed sparring exercises.

To my relief my opponent was a man named Burhan. He, and by extension I, was blessed by him having enough intelligence to control his attacks and he wasn't out to find out just how much damage he could cause. Over the months we'd been partnered off more than a few times and had developed an understanding. With a nod and a bow we set to work on practicing various blocks. Within days of starting the training I'd realized that I'd need to learn as quickly as possible to effectively block and redirect force. This allowed me to retain my teeth, unlike some of the young men who focused on offense rather than defense. Injuries weren't unheard of.

A short while after the rest of the group was done we were sent back. The Canyon ran both ways. This time I got the course which emphasized climbing skills and required more upper body strength than the other two courses. However, I had completed the course many times and had few problems. When I reached the beginning of the Canyon I was directed to make my own way back to Masyaf, though naturally I would have to jog there. I nodded bowed and ran up to the two who had finished before me. We jogged up to the first turn of the Canyon entrance, but as soon as the instructors lost sight of us we stopped. This was widely practiced amongst the trainees. The instructors compensated by sometimes hiding along the road back to Masyaf. I usually jogged obediently, but today I wasn't feeling up to it.

A short while later our worst fears came true as a robed Assassin leaped out from behind a rock, brandishing a wooden mock sword. With three deft moves the three of us were sent sprawling along the desert path. We got up as fast as our sore joints allowed us to, but the instructor wasn't satisfied, so by way of punishment we ran the whole way back at full speed. Anyone he deemed not to be giving their all received a whack from the wooden sword. When we reached the yard of the fortress we had to do more conditioning exercises under the assassin's watchful eye. By the time the rest of the group arrived, some of them also accompanied by assassins eagerly meting out justice, we were exhausted. The rest of the day was divided between weapons training and more conditioning.

As darkness fell the training ended and I returned to my quarters. Some of the trainees lived in the village that clustered before Masyaf, while the majority of the other resided in the so-called barracks in Masyaf's lower levels. My personal quarters were a luxury I had earned from the aptitude I displayed in the Canyon and the dedication and persistence I showed in all the areas where I wasn't naturally talented. I did some stretches to ward off any soreness that would make tomorrow's training difficult. Not long after the training began I'd discovered two things: first, there were no days without discomfort, mostly in the form of aches and soreness; second, not stretching after the day's training would multiply tomorrow's various discomforts.

I relished settling down on the hard cot, which always seemed very welcoming at the end of the day. As exhaustion washed over my body my mind turned inwards, once again considering my situation. Very early on I had had to rethink my position on the Assassins. While I had initially thought of them and their morality in very polar terms, I soon discovered a veritable sea of hypocrisies within myself.

On one hand I condemned the Assassins and their activities, but on the other I was becoming one of them, sometimes eagerly. I couldn't deny my excitement at learning to better navigate the Canyon, especially after seeing the Assassins traverse a city's rooftops. After being bested by Malik in our mock duel in Damascus I felt equal satisfaction when someone yielded to my swordwork, even if that someone was from the lower echelons of our training cadre. In the end I settled to directing my anger towards the man in white. I was also faced with the prospect of my possible future: by training with the Assassins I was distancing myself from the rest of society. If I survived to see my plans succeed the rest of my life would be spent either running from the Assassins or as a part of them.

Gradually physical exhaustion translated into mental exhaustion and I did my best to clear my head of these thoughts. I'd learned that there were enough problems in the present to deal with the what-ifs of the future. While trying in vain to clear my mind I slowly succumbed to sleep.

Al Mualim's barely audible footsteps were the only sound in Masyaf's library. At this early hour the various servants and library caretakers were still sleeping. Al Mualim didn't mind. He liked having the library to himself. However, as he reached his wooden desk he found this was not the case. Altaïr, his sharpest weapon, was sitting cross-legged by the table.

"My student," Al Mualim called out. Altaïr visibly flinched, having been taken by surprise. He hastily got up and bowed.

"Master."

"Did I catch you unawares?" Al Mualim asked with a bemused smile. Flustered, Altaïr hesitated before answering.

"No, it's just that... In Masyaf I trust myself to be among friends." The old man smile grew even wider. "This is the one place where I can allow myself to relax."

"Be mindful, for that could one day change," Al Mualim said in an odd tone. Altaïr cocked an eyebrow. "For are not all things, in the grand scale, ephemeral? Today this is a safe haven, but tomorrow you might fight for your very life here." Altaïr nodded in agreement, disinclined to ponder such things right then. They left it behind them and in silence watched the sun rise over Masyaf. They kept silent and still even as the rest of the fortress slowly awakened and people began moving about. Altaïr kept his gaze on the horizon, the sky, but Al Mualim switched his view to look at the trainees beginning weapons practice.

"How did your mission go? A success, I expect."

"Yes, master." There was another long silence between the two men.

"The willful young woman we encountered in Damascus. Do you remember her?" Altaïr nodded. "I'm glad. She seems like a very promising student." Altaïr shifted uncomfortably. Al Mualim was going somewhere with this, as it was not in the old man's nature to waste words, even if he tended to be quite eloquent at times. Altaïr would rather be on the way to his new assignment than dally about with a trainee. He had yet to encounter one with enough dedication to be worthy of his time.

"What is the next task you have for me?" Altaïr asked, trying to change the topic.

"Oh, nothing right now. Nothing important enough to require _your_ attention. But I do have a proposition for you."

"Again!" Altaïr commanded. I felt like hitting the man, which ironically was what he wanted me to do. It was also something at which I consistently failed. My body protested but I got up and assumed a fighting stance, facing the man in white: my personal, private instructor in the ways of the Assassins.

"Again," he repeated. Altaïr did not like having to repeat himself, so I attacked without much of a plan. I moved forward and lifted my knee, as if to kick, but that was a feint; I planned to bring my foot down again while using the momentum to deliver a strong punch. As usual, Altaïr saw through my plan. He grabbed my shoulders, moved to the side and put his left foot in front of my rear foot. A second later I was sprawled on the dusty ground.

"Bad plan. By falling forward you lost control of your movement, a situation that any skilled opponent can use to his advantage," Altaïr intoned. I swore under my breath. "It's also a very slow move, compounding your error."

"Yes, master." I got up and assumed a stance, but Altaïr's attention was elsewhere.

"We're done for the morning," he said suddenly. "You have a few minutes to cool off, then we continue onwards." I bowed hastily and began stretching. Altaïr walked off to check on our horses. It was the third day of our journey. To my frustration he hadn't told me where we were headed. But that didn't frustrate me as much as the man himself.

We traveled mostly in silence. Occasionally Altaïr would, without warning, ask me something pertaining to my training: what not to do while blending into a crowd, how to bring weapons to an area where none were permitted. Quizzically enough he never asked me to repeat the Tenets of the Assassins, something the other instructors asked _ad nauseum_.

He still hadn't told me our destination, and thus my frustration continued unabated. Initially I'd been more mortified that fate had cast this man as my teacher. However, I had adjusted and resolved to make the best of what I could of the situation. If I was to kill this man who better to give me the means to do it? And, a less likely prospect, I might be able to establish some level of comradeship, something that might make him hesitate for even a fraction when I finally chose to play my hand.

"Where are we going?" I asked again, mostly out of childish spite. Altaïr was silent, which was no surprise. I drifted inward to be with thoughts. I was accustomed to riding so it didn't require an active effort.

"Acre," Altaïr said, so suddenly in fact that I almost fell off my horse.

"Why?" I asked. He chose not to reply. I shrugged it off, assuming he would tell me when he thought it prudent. My mind began to wander again.

"You are unarmed and face three armed opponents. You are cornered. What do you do?" I sighed inward and began searching my memory for the answer.

Eventually we reached Acre, and I discovered why: in his instruction Altaïr preferred a more hands-on approach.

"Forget the Canyon. To learn to survive the city you must go to the city." And so we did. At night we would spend hours on end scaling the walls of buildings and bridging the gaps between houses. During the day we would either practice combat in some secluded area or learn to use the crowd to our advantage. One exercise we kept returning to was one where Altaïr would pursue me and I would have to lose him. At other times I would have to find him in a crowd and 'assassinate' him as smoothly as possible.

Years passed this way. We traveled from city to city across the Holy Land, the whole time spent training. Slowly hesitation gave way to confidence. In sparring Altaïr had to keep his guard up. If he didn't make an effort I usually managed to beat him. I still struggled in using the longsword, but I fared well unarmed and excelled with the short blade. There were no more obstacles; only possibilities. Even Altaïr's attitude had undergone a change. His indignation had slowly given way to respect. No, he certainly didn't respect me as an individual, in skill or otherwise, but he did respect my dedication to my training. Subsequently he began to truly focus on his role as a mentor.

Somewhere down the road Altaïr began correspondence with Al Mualim. He received missions that I would accompany him on. Slowly my training went from theory to practice. Towards the end most of our days were spent either on missions or en route to them. I acted mainly as a lookout. I barely touched the targets, much less inflicted any harm upon them. Sometimes I helped him intimidate potential informants, sometimes I helped him catch fleeing targets. I hadn't killed anyone yet, but I tried not to think about it, mostly because I didn't know what to think. I didn't know whether to be insulted that he hadn't allowed me to put my carefully honed skill to use, or to be thankful that he hadn't put me in such a precarious position as to decide between someone's life and death.

The day began much like many others. I'd become accustomed to waking up before sunrise. If nothing else, it afforded me the opportunity to see Acre bathed in the light of the rising sun. I faintly remembered arriving in Acre for the first time with Altaïr. We'd stayed at a Brotherhood-owned safehouse, just like now. I stopped reminiscing, got dressed and went looking for my mentor, whom I soon found on the balcony. There was an unsealed scroll in his hand. I raised an eyebrow.

"Assignment?" He nodded.

"Let's get to work."

Our target was one Sir Edwin from England. He was the baron of someplace in Europe of little importance. What was important was the man's reputation as an orator. He was a most eloquent speaker, and it was said that he could have any crowd up in arms within moments of his speech. Now he was urging all Christians in the Acre to drive all heathens out of the city. He was also excessively paranoid and almost never left his house. He even spoke to the people from a balcony of his own house, instead of going out to them like most who would address the masses. As I and Altaïr scaled the secluded eastern wall of the house I had to admit that the Edwin's paranoia might not be unfounded after all.

We entered through a window and proceeded down a hallway leading to the balcony. Sir Edwin was in the process of addressing the people gathered by his house. Sure enough, strong yells rang from the direction of the balcony. Altaïr motioned me to keep watch, ensuring no-one took us by surprise. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as Altaïr launched into full sprint. He threw two knives at the guards on either side of the balcony. A heartbeat later I watched the sliver of his hidden Assassin's blade thrust out as he increased his speed. I checked the hall, which remained empty. Then I turned to watch the master at work. Altaïr's footsteps finally alerted Edwin, who turned 'round just in time to see Altaïr's blade plunge into his eye.

There was a moment of deafening silence as Altaïr gently guided the body down. A woman screamed and soon the crowd's outrage drowned out all other sounds. Altaïr ignored it. He calmly pulled out a white feather and touched it to the blood pooling around Sir Edwin. Still unhurried, he closed the dead orator's remaining eye. I was eager to get moving, but knew better than to hurry him. Altaïr took his work seriously. After what seemed like forever he finally got up and nodded to me. The time had come to be gone.

We headed to the roof. The plan was to jump to a lower, adjacent building, split up, lose any pursuing guards and finally meet again at the safehouse. Altaïr rushed past me along the stairs, heading towards the roof. A few steps outside he was suddenly attacked by one of Edwin's guards. The man was tall and his sleeveless vest did a fine job of displaying his muscled arms. In one smooth movement he tackled Altaïr, sending the lither man sprawling. As the guard drew and raised his two-handed in attack sword I knew I had to act. I'd been behind Altaïr so he hadn't noticed me, which meant I had the upper hand. I gathered my strength, drew my short blade and shot up the stairs. At the top I pounced. The guardsman raised his eyes and looked at my weapon glinting in sunlight.

Almost by itself my left hand shot out, pushing the man down before me. In lieu of an Assassin's blade I sank my short blade into his throat and then twisted it to the side, severing his artery. As blood spurted out of the gaping wound my mind went blank. Slowly I managed to look away from my first kill. My eyes sought Altaïr's. I imagine I looked somewhat distraught. Altaïr got up, walked over and gently pulled me up. Then he took my weapon, wiped the blade on the dead man's vest and then sheathed it across my back. I was still in a state of shock. He turned my face to his and gave me one of his imperceptible nods. After I while I managed to blink and swallow. Then we were on our way.

* * *

**A/N: Hi, readers. Sorry it's been so long since the last update. Both me and my excellent beta reader have been quite busy. Thank you for the feedback, keep it coming. I'll get to work on the next chapter.**


	4. Chapter 4

The Serpent in White

Chapter IV

I did not particularly like Acre. Growing up in Damascus had accustomed me to to a sunnier climate, and coastal Acre was far removed from that. Nonetheless Al Mualim insisted on stationing me there. While I could understand his reasons for that, I did not have to like it.

I was sitting on the roof of a church, shaded by the tower looming above me. My back was rested against the cool stone, and my eyes were following a man who was currently trying to eavesdrop on a conversation between two gregarious guardsmen. However, my attention was divided: an archer was patrolling a nearby rooftop. If he got any closer I might have to move from my location. As my hand brushed against my knife belt, I was reminded that I had other options.

Even as I was weighing courses of action my target started moving. I made my down and started trailing him. Despite the crowd it was easy to keep track of him, as his white robe was easy to see. This mundane method of travel belied his athletic prowess. He took a sudden turn to the left and made his way down an alley. I followed, though I took care to ensure he didn't notice me. Paying little attention to surrounding, he headed for a ladder at the end of the dead end alley.

I swore under my breath: the roofs were vigilantly patrolled. Almost panicking, I drew my knife, curved and wide-bladed, and ran after him. He must have heard my boots scraping against the ground, as he whipped round just in time to block my low stab at his gut. He pulled back his free hand, now a fist, and prepared to punch my teeth in. I reacted quickly and brought my knee up to his crotch. He curled up in pain, but his grip on my weapon hand stayed firm. I stepped back and used my foot to trip him, and as soon as I felt his grip loosen slightly I plunged the knife in.

He was dead. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. He was gone for good. I stepped back and watched the blood pool around the corpse, staining his white faux monk's robe. I left the alley and the bloody scene behind me, heading out before someone noticed the body. It was the year of our Lord 1191, and this was not a particularly different day for me.

I entered the Assassin's bureau where the local leader, a sullen old man, was waiting for me.

"It is done," I said. "The target is dead."

"Good," the bureau leader said. "One less power-hungry thug to deal with." He didn't' lift his eyes from the thick, hide-bound tome he was engrossed in. I waited for him to speak, but he kept quiet.

"Anything else for me to do?" I finally asked. After a moment he finally looked up.

"Yes. You are familiar with William of Montferrat?" I nodded. He was the Regent Lord of Acre. "Gather information on him. Altaïr is coming to the city, and his blade seeks out Montferrat." My breath caught in my throat.

"Altaïr is coming here?" I asked, enunciating so as not to betray the weakness in my voice.

"Yes," the leader muttered, apparently oblivious to my surprise. "He's been here once before, but you were handling the caravan situation." I swallowed and regained control of myself.

"I heard he was demoted recently." The leader made a rude noise.

"Yes, and very soon promoted again." He put the book away and continued, raising his voice. "Gifted assassin or not, it is not proper to flaunt the Creed as he does!" I was already heading out and barely heard him.

William, sergeant-at-arms, liked his job. His men treated him with a proper mixture of fear and respect. Respect was also present higher in the command structure, evidenced by lord Montferrat personally ordering William to organize patrols for the keep. This proved he was an important man; maybe even a promotion was due. William left the barracks, having ensured everything was in order. Pondering on the rest of the evening, he decided drinking and slapping wenches on the arse was in order. After all, a man of his stature needed to unwind.

Several hours later the guardsman emerged from a harbour tavern. He was not completely drunk, but tipsy, certainly. He staggered over to a corner for a lengthy piss. As he relieved himself some nimble-fingered thief dashed past and, to the sergeant's dismay, cut his purse. Swearing, William struggled at once to cover himself, draw his sword and pursue the offender. He caught sight of the of the thief running down an alley. William chased after, but only a few steps in he realized he was looking at a dead end alley, and an empty one at that.

He took hesitant steps forward; maybe the robber was hiding in an alcove that William couldn't see, especially since it was so dark. He regretted his decision as a blade settled on his throat, and voice spoke softly:

"Let's talk about your lord."

I left the body in the alley and headed out, blending into the crowd. There was one more errand to run before I was done for the day. The sun was gradually setting and I wanted to be done before dark – the guards frowned on wandering after dark.

Indeed, it was almost dark when I was, as subtly as possible, making my way back to the bureau. As I neared the ladder leading to the bureau entrance I heard shouts and clangs of steel. I quickly surmised the sounds were coming from above, by the entrance. Carefully, I crept up the ladder and lowered my white hood so I could observe without being spotted.

It was Altaïr, surrounded by four soldiers, a fifth one dead on the side. The guards were nervously pacing around Altaïr, who waited calmly and patiently for an attack. Soon one nervous, young soldier complied, attacking with a downward diagonal slash. However, he overreached, coming close enough for Altaïr to parry the hurried attack, trip the man and sink his sword in. The three surviving guards exchanged nervous glances, and the stalemate continued. As softly as I could I got up onto the roof and drew my knife. If any of the fighters noticed me they didn't show it. Suddenly two more guards arrived and joined the fight, though I remained unnoticed amidst all this.

I probably looked calm enough, but my mind was racing as I gauged the situation. Against five guards Altaïr was safe enough, but five guards and myself was another matter altogether, especially since I had the element of surprise. If it should come to an open battle I knew how the Eagle fought; with the guards as distraction I stood a chance.

As it stood, though, I was at a disadvantage, since the guards were situated between myself and Altaïr. Smashing through five armored men would hardly be subtle, and the element of surprise was crucial to my survival. Suddenly the combatants blasted into movement again. As Altaïr took down another guardsman the situation spun around. Now I was looking at Altaïr's exposed back. I tightened my grip on my weapon, and I knew I had to act before I was noticed.

I dashed forward, readying my blade for attack. As I inch by inch neared the man in white, after all these years, my senses heightened and time seemed to slow down. I raised the knife, and in the setting sun it already looked to be covered in crimson. When I was but a step away from Altaïr it all came tumbling down. He sidestepped and evaded my attack and I stumbled into the half-circle of guards. I'm not sure if I actually cried out in despair, but I very well might have.

My sudden arrival seemed to have thrown everyone off-balance, so I acted while I still could, attacking at the nearest guard, sinking my blade into his gut. However, as I was retreating from my attack, I felt a cold sensation across my back. The blood-soaked dagger fell from my hand, but I barely noticed it. The last thing on my mind was my failure and I tasted blood.

Altaïr took the offensive, as time was of the essence. He aggressively and somewhat recklessly dispatched the remaining guards, gathered Kaif and hurried inside the bureau. For once the bureau leader was not distracted by his records.

"Is that Kaif? What happened?" Altaïr set her down some cushions.

"I'm not sure. I was fighting guards when she arrived. It was... strange. There was something about how it all happened..." Altaïr trailed off. "But she was wounded by the guards." The leader bent over Kaif and began dressing the wound as best he could.

"I don't think there is any internal damage, but the bleeding must be stopped." He glanced at the young Assassin. "She needs to be taken to Masyaf. Otherwise she'll die."

"Can you staunch the blood flow so she can survive the journey?"

"I will do my best."

When Altaïr arrived in Masyaf, Kaif was slipping in and out of consciousness, and the Brotherhood's best healers set to work. When he saw that everything was under control, Altaïr was about to leave, but Al Mualim stopped him.

"Altaïr, wait a moment. I would know what happened, and in detail." Altaïr hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He began explaining the situation. Al Mualim stopped him at the point where Kaif made her entrance.

"Describe that again."

"I was facing the guards when I heard footsteps. I sidestepped and saw Kaif rush past me, weapon raised. When she moved past me she looked momentarily confused. She shouted something, it might have been 'now'. Then she attacked and was injured."

"I see. You may go now." With a slight bow Altaïr departed leaving in his wake a thoughtful Al Mualim.

I woke up hungry, thirsty, sore and, curiously enough, tired. As soon as my conscious state was discovered I was informed that I was in Masyaf and had spent the past few days fighting off a fever. Also, there was a large, stitched wound on my back. I was told to spend the next few days recovering further. I tried to get to see Al Mualim, but I wasn't granted a meeting. I was nervous beyond description. Was I considered a traitor, having attacked Altaïr? Wait, did they even realize I had made an attempt on his life? Did they merely think this all the result of a clumsy attack by a clumsy Assassin?

While the avenging part of me considered the fate of my vengeance, the assassin part of me considered things like exile, demotion and my physical condition. It was all very confusing. At times I felt like my mind would tear in two and I would go mad. There was nothing to do in the room I was confined to, exacerbating the problem. After a week I was summoned before Al Mualim. We went through the formal greetings.

"I trust you are recovering well?" he asked politely, and I nodded in reply. "I'm sure you are eager to return to active duty."

"Very much so, Master," I said, nodding vigorously.

"Admirable. Walk with me," he commanded, and we headed towards the garden. "Altaïr tells an interesting tale," Al Mualim said in an offhand way. Like a bowstring suddenly drawn, my whole body tensed.

"Is that so?" I asked, almost choking on the words.

"Indeed it is." I eagerly waited for more, but the damned man said nothing. I just then noticed that two nondescript Assassins were trailing. Bodyguards?

"At first it seems like am overeager Assassin making mistakes, acting in haste. Then again..." he trailed off and turned to me, an eye glinting in the depths of his hood. "We both know you do not fit that description. You are precise and above all calculating."

"As you say, Master," I conceded, swallowing. The two shadows behind us edged closer.

"But since this is so, we must wonder at what happened. You behind Altaïr, blade raised; a very curious image. Almost as if you were trying to attack _him_." Al Mualim stopped suddenly. "Were you trying to kill Altaïr?"

"Of course not. I have no idea what you mean," I said as confidently as I could. Al Mualim was silent. Then he smiled faintly.

"You are lying to me." The smile became a thin line. "Do not lie to me." He slapped me across the cheek, and I felt two strong arms restrain me from behind. Al Mualim grabbed my chin and twisted me to look at his eyes.

"One more chance, Kaif. The truth. Now." I said nothing and tried to look defiant. "Put her in a cell," Al Mualim commanded, and I was taken away.

* * *

**OK, our journey is coming to a close. There's only one chapter left in Kaif's adventure. It's been a blast writing this story and I remain quite shocked that I'm about to finish this thing. I'll see you in a bit with the last instalment.**


	5. Chapter 5

Serpent in White

Chapter V

Defeat was the word. Even after all that I had been through, being imprisoned in the depths of Masyaf caused feelings of immeasurable hopelessness and despair. In the past, each time I'd seen some way forward, some way to escape. Not this time. Even if I could get through the cell door, I would still face a fortress full of trained killers. Slim odds indeed.

I still plotted and planned, wracked my mind in search of an answer. Slim or not, I might have a chance to escape Masyaf. Then again, I wasn't in peak condition thanks to the wound on my back. The other option was to talk to Al Mualim. I could try to lie, but I suspected my chances were better facing all the Assassins in the Holy Land.

Telling the truth seemed to be my only chance. But what would come of it? I honestly had no idea. Al Mualim was not a man whose movements you predicted. I decided nothing right away. Maybe Al Mualim was bluffing. He couldn't possibly hold me in the cell forever. My determination began to erode as I experienced the pangs of hunger, going without food for days.

On the fourth day I gave up and resolved to tell the truth. As my guards fetched Al Mualim I pondered what would become of me. When I considered the idea of exile, I was shocked to discover feelings of dismay. I was not bothered by the fact that this would set my plans back for quite a bit, but rather because I would have to leave the Brotherhood. In the midst of my confusion at this piece of self-discovery, Al Mualim arrived, a stern look on his face.

"So. The truth," he demanded. I got up from the floor and gathered my thoughts.

"My name is not Kaif al-Zarqa' and I was never a slave. I am the daughter of a western merchant, who lived in Damascus until he died some years ago at your orders. I witnessed Altaïr kill my father and I swore to kill Altaïr in turn. To that effect I became an Assassin, so I would stand a better chance of killing him. In Acre I made an attempt." With a sigh, I added: "And failed." I looked to Al Mualim, unreadable as always. He motioned the guards to leave, leaving us alone.

"There is a cancer," said Al Mualim theatrically. "Eating away at our fraternity." He slowly paced around me. I laughed, bitter and short.

"One Assassin – I am hardly a cancer."

"Not you," he snapped. "I speak of Altaïr."

"I thought he was the most promising Assassin you've seen in your life. The youngest Master Assassin, after all." I was distracted by a headache that was slowly growing stronger.

"I do not question his proficiency.. What I hold suspect are his motives, his morals, his plans. He may very well be the end of the Brotherhood. In any situation, at any given moment, Altaïr's primary concern is Altaïr. No, I do not mean the usual kind of selfishness. Altaïr is probably not even aware of this: I suspect he has deluded himself into thinking he is serving the needs of the Brotherhood, when he only serves himself."

"Master, I spent years with the man. The Brotherhood is his only concern, even if he has little time for the Creed."

"As I said, he is deluded, unaware. He believes there is a conspiracy against him, a belief in which he is right. I _have_ taken certain steps to ensure the future of the Brotherhood. Nothing malicious, I assure you. Altaïr does not understand that. He will destroy us to get to the bottom of my plans."

"But... That would mean that the plan you set in motion to stop him made him a threat in the first place." Al Mualim seemed momentarily flustered.

"You misunderstand," he said, calm and collected once again. "Altaïr has been dangerous all along, as he cannot see the folly of his actions. No matter what course he takes, at the end of his journey awaits destruction. This cannot be allowed." As I listened, I found that I agreed. I could see the wisdom in his words. Al Mualim spoke, his mouth at my ear:

"Should it happen so that Altaïr dies of your blade, it could be seen as a considerable contribution to the cause of the Brotherhood." I nodded slowly, sluggish as if I was in a daze. "Your motives in this matter are irrelevant.; only the result matters."

"It shall be done, Master," I assured, and Al Mualim nodded in approval. He walked to the door.

"You are free to leave. Your quarters are untouched. I recommend you take some time to recover from your... ordeals. After that you can return to active duty." I nodded quickly and got up, heading to my room to and to rest. In the following days I considered the incredible fortune that had befallen me. The Master of Assassins had sanctioned my revenge. Now all I needed was another chance.

* * *

Weeks later I was in Jerusalem. Altaïr's intrusion on Majd Addin's funeral, a scant few hours ago, had the whole city in an uproar. I was trying to keep a low profile, even bothering with a complete Arab women's outfit. I'd spent a few hours indoors, but I finally dared to go to the bureau. Upon my arrival I was shocked to see it empty. I feared Malik, the bureau's one-armed leader, had been killed, not all that unlikely considering the tension in the city. Even as I planned setting out to find him, Malik arrived. He seemed shocked, a haunted look in his eyes. He barely noticed my presence.

"Malik? What's wrong?" He didn't look directly at me, glancing around listlessly.

"I have discovered... Things," he said and sat down, burying his face in his palms. "Terrible things."

"About Altaïr?" I supplied eagerly, hoping to gain an ally. I knew Malik had an outspoken dislike of Altaïr, but he looked at me like I'd claimed the sky was green.

"No. Al Mualim." Malik gazed into the distance. "It's all a lie." I cursed under my breath. Altaïr had pulled Malik along into his paranoia, and it seemed there was no way to convince him otherwise.

"Where is Altaïr?"

"He rides to Arsuf and from there to Masyaf, to confront Al Mualim." Malik's eyes lit up. "Where we, too, must travel. All the Assassins in Jerusalem." I agreed, playing along. He was the easiest way to reach Altaïr. In his fervour Malik did not question my sudden conversion o his cause. We quickly divided tasks: Malik would gather whatever equipment he could find while I contacted the various Assassins Malik had operating in the city. He gave me a list of names along with their assignments. It wasn't a long one.

I discarded my disguise and set about going through the Brotherhood's safe houses in Jerusalem. At the end of the tour three, all but two, of the Assassins were accounted for. I dispatched one of them to look for half of the missing twosome, as he suspected the other of them might be visiting his mistress. The others I ordered to join up with Malik outside the city walls. When I was certain my orders were being fulfilled I, too, set out searching.

I resigned to look for the last Assassin, Burhan, my comrade from training. Honestly, I had no idea where he even might be. According to Malik's information Burhan was stationed at the Dome of the Rock, one of Jerusalem's central locations. It wasn't a good sign – the area was ripe with guards and soldiers. I figured I'd search the area between the nearest safe house and the Dome.

I descended from the rooftops to street level to avoid attention, blending in with the crowd. I passed the safe house and headed for the Dome. The usual compliment of guards were watching over the entrances to the Temple Mount, in the middle of which was the Dome. I climbed a few buildings and passed above the guards undetected. Trying to remain inconspicuous, I scoured the plaza in search of my friend, but he was nowhere to be found. I made an equally invisible egress from the area and proceeded to search the nearby streets and alleys.

After dozen or so alleys I was ready to give up and head to the rendezvous point. I passed yet another dark, secluded alley and didn't spare it more than a glance until I picked up the cloying stench of fresh blood. I turned off the main street and headed in, very carefully, watching the shadows. At the end of the alley, barely concealed, I saw a white rag. I ran over and looked over the bloody mess that. I cursed softly. Despite the blood it was easily recognizable as an Assassin's robe. I crouched down and turned the body over. It was Burhan, though I had known that before I crouched down. The one Assassin I had actually liked, enjoyed knowing, had ended up dead. I inclined my head in respect, but I had no time for further ceremony.. Suddenly there were heavy footsteps behind me, metal clicking against metal and the sharp sound of a drawn sword.

"I thought there'd be more of you," a deep voice snarled. I spun around, catching a glimpse of a red Templar cross, and immediately ducked, barely avoiding a decapitation. I slipped a small knife from my sleeve and made an attempt at my attacker's right armpit, but he kicked at me, throwing me on my back. He hovered over me, preparing to skewer me with his crusader's sword.

I swiftly drew out my short blade and parried the downward thrust to the side. I enclosed my gaunleted left hand around the parried blade, keeping it out of the way, and grimaced as it cut into my fingers. I quickly sat up and stabbed my attacker behind his knee. As he fell down I rolled to the side and got to my feet. In a spinning motion I slashed him under the rim of the helmet, opening the jugular. A final stab severed his spine. The Templar slumped next to the Assassin he had killed. I wiped off my weapon and sheathed it. The wounds on my left hand were superficial, but I bandaged my hand and joined the crowd, heading out of the city.

When I met up with the other Assassins, there were only six of us, but Malik convinced the others, speaking with passion and fire. The others were shortly completely caught up. I was the only one left who recognized the danger that Altaïr represented. I played along, blending in.

"Our brothers and sisters have been dying for a lie," Malik was saying. "I have seen it with my own eyes! I have read Robert de Sable's journal! It tells a terrifying truth – Al Mualim has been using us all for his own benefit." I flinched visibly, though nobody took notice. Was I wrong? Had Al Mualim fooled me as well? I shook my head to banish such thoughts. Likely this was Altaïr's handiwork, if not an outright lie. I was more and more alone. I wanted to scream "Altaïr is made of lies" but it would not help. I'd have to go it alone in the end, just like I had in the beginning.

Malik's inspirational speech went on, during which I mentally prepared myself for the trials ahead. I still could not face Altaïr in open combat. What little benefit my training had given me had been taken away with the wound decorating my back. It hadn't acted up during the brief though intense encounter with the Templar. No, I would have to attack Altaïr while he was unaware. That was my only chance. I was brought back into the real world when Malik came over to me. The other Assassins were dividing the weapons amongst each other.

"You arrived alone," Malik said. "I take it Burhan is dead." I nodded.

"We were friends during training, but I hadn't seen him for years," I muttered. I was unsure how I felt about it all. Malik bowed his head solemnly, but his eyes were angry.

"Another victim of Al Mualim's plotting," he said bitterly. I nodded again, not trusting my voice. He started towards the other Assassins, but awkwardly turned back to me. "We leave soon, Kaif. I just wanted to say I am glad to have you there. You are skilled Assassin, even though you are young and inexperienced."

"We should go soon," I replied curtly. "Every moment Al Mualim moves closer to victory." If Malik was offended he didn't show it. I walked over and took my share of equipment. I didn't bother taking a sword, still preferring the lighter short blade, which I now replaced with one of superior quality. I filled my stockpile of throwing knives and hidden weapons. Soon the six of us were on horseback, heading for Masyaf.

* * *

We approached the Assassins' haven via the main road, but before the main entrance we veered off the main course, looking for the shepherds' paths to take us to the rear of the fortress. We abandoned the horses to climb the cliffside. Malik's progress was slow but sure, altogether impressive in his one-armed state. We got up not far from the Citadel's entrance, which was barred with an iron gate. Malik motioned us to proceed towards the village. I lagged behind under the pretence of covering them from attacks from behind. I crouched by the cliff and cast my gaze towards the village. Altaïr was there, fighting what seemed to be most of the village's guards. Malik and his men arrived just in time, their storm of throwing knives either killing or routing the surviving guards.

Altaïr ran up to the five Assassins and began conversing with Malik. I couldn't make out what they were saying, so I focused on ensuring I was hidden from my target. Soon thereafter Malik and Altaïr embraced. Malik and his men departed and headed to the village, while Altaïr ran up the road to the Citadel. The entrance was now open. Altaïr walked inside with quick, broad steps, and I silently crept in behind him. As I passed through the Citadel's gate the portcullis slammed down behind me. I gazed forward and almost gasped aloud in amazement. Most of the village was gathered at the Citadel's inner entrance. They stood unmoving and expressionless.

Unhesitating, Altaïr calmly passed through the crowd, gently pushing them out of the way. When he was inside I advanced. I stopped at the villagers to study them. They were all looking out into nothingness and their eyes were clouded. They didn't respond to anything I did. I decided to ignore them, and set my sights on the Citadel's wall. If I went in through the front door I risked detection, so I climbed the wall and entered through a window. Inside, I crept along the halls and to the balconies surrounding the garden, from where I heard loud voices.

I made it outside and was greeted by an even stranger sight: Altaïr was on the garden pavement, surrounded by an eerie orange light. He was apparently transfixed in place. He was shouting at Al Mualim, who was standing on the main balcony, a sword in one hand, a strange glowing orb in the other. They were speaking loudly and clearly, but I didn't understand their words. I was drawn to the orb in Al Mualim's hand. Suddenly I was brought my knees by a strong headache that ripped through my skull. My head swam and my vision bordered on black.

I managed to stay conscious and refocused on Altaïr. Now he was surrounded by nine men. These were men Altaïr had killed over the past few months. They were dead. Yet it was unmistakably them, surrounding Altaïr with swords in their hands. In a flash Altaïr launched into movement. Altaïr's speed and skill were far beyond those of these... I did not know what they were. Apparitions?

As the last man fell, Altaïr became once again a captive of the orange light. Al Mualim was suddenly on the ground, walking towards Altaïr. As he did, he seemed to split into identical copies of himself. I blinked, thinking my eyes were deceiving me, but no – there they were. Nine Al Mualims surrounded Altaïr. In an instant he was once again free and fighting Al Mualim, over and over again. My headache persisted, and I was sure I was going mad. Nothing about this made sense.

It was not long before even the last Al Mualim was cut down, but in a flash Altaïr was once again in the center of the garden, frozen in place, and Al Mualim was pacing around him. Slowly I began to understand their words. What Al Mualim held, the Templar's treasure, the Piece of Eden, created illusions, had shaped the course of history. All I had witnessed just now had been an illusion.

"I will miss you, Altaïr," Al Mualim said, putting the Piece away. "You were my very best student." He attacked at Altaïr, who responded in kind. Their duel was like nothing I'd ever seen before: Masterful feints and ingenious stratagems taught me more of combat than a million years with the Brotherhood's instructors. But it was still all hazy and clouded, the headache muddling my thoughts.

Suddenly Al Mualim disappeared from before Altaïr and reappeared at the edge of the garden. Altaïr, unfazed, charged again at the man. They fought and seemed evenly matched. In the end, Al Mualim, growing desperate, overreached with his lunge, allowing Altaïr to trip him. In a smooth, practiced motion Altaïr snapped out his hidden blade and plunged it into Al Mualim's neck.

The scene reset once again, to the center of the garden. Al Mualim's body was nowhere to be seen. The Piece of Eden lay on the ground, emitting a weak light. Altaïr, his hands bloody, approached it. As he did, the light became stronger and suddenly cast an image into the air. It was a bizarre one, showing a round object with clearly defined areas on its surface. One of the areas reminded me slightly of the maps of the world I'd seen, but there were huge differences.

Malik and the other Assassins arrived and joined Altaïr. They, too, were speechless. As I watched my headache abated and I regained control of myself. Everything was clear now. Malik and the others would witness my deed, and I would be forever hounded for my deed. Even if Al Mualim had lied it made no difference. My quarrel was with Altaïr. He had killed my father, and I would kill him in turn. The Brotherhood was over anyway. I did not care if I was cast out. The headache, all conflicting emotions were gone. Everything was clear now. With more care than ever before, I lowered myself from the balcony to the ground and drew my weapon. The Assassins were held by the image cast by the Piece of Eden. I approached the man in white. Everything was clear now. Saying a prayer to no-one in particular, I raised my weapon and attacked.

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_A/N: That's all folks. Yeah, the Serpent in White is now over. I hope you enjoyed it; I certainly did. Any feedback, last thouhts on the story are very welcome. As always I thrive on reviews. At the risk of repeating history, I'll say that this is the end of Kaif's saga. I certainly won't continue it onto Assassin's Creed II, as that would not meet my own standards of plausibility, and I don't want to mess with the ending I've just left you. Lastly, I want to thank my reviewers, especially _**_yamiishot_**_, for providing support. I'm very grateful. Well, that's about all I have to say. Bye now._


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